


It's Like Red, but not Quite

by monchy



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's Anakin and Obi-Wan. And then there's tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Like Red, but not Quite

Obi-Wan was so tired that he couldn’t even muster the energy to feel boredom or frustration, so he just sat on the old wooden chair and leaned back, propping his elbows on the table in front of him. A clock ticked on the wall of the silent dinner, but Obi-Wan’s eyes refused to acknowledge how late in the night it was. Tick, tack, tick, tack, and he sighed. He looked up at the ceiling, and crunched his face when he spotted a grey line cracking it from one end to the other of the room, and spreading then to the corners.   
  
The diner was empty but for a couple of lonely men nursing hot mugs of chocolate, which Obi-Wan eyed with a pang on envy. Anakin was getting them drinks, looking sully and drained, and staring down at his own muddy nails. On the other end of the diner, Quinlan flirted with the waitress, making her laugh cut the silence every minute now, while subtly letting his words and his smile work their magic. She would be taking him home tonight, firmly believing that she had been the one doing the seducing, rather than the other way around.   
  
Anakin plunked himself down opposite him, and slid a mug of tea until it reached him. The liquid sloshed noisily inside the porcelain, and a few light drops escaped, falling down the side of the mug and on the plastic surface of the table. Obi-Wan cleaned it with his finger and then licked it absentmindedly, pointedly ignoring Anakin’s half closed eyes staring at him. He was too tired for that, too.   
  
A waitress swayed along the room and put a plate of blueberry pancakes in front of Anakin, winking at him and offering a sickeningly sweet, “there you are, sweetheart,” which Anakin ignored good-naturedly. It was Obi-Wan who lidded his eyes this time, studying the blonde, busty woman while she walked back behind the barstool. She was Anakin’s type – Force, who wasn’t?  
  
“You should try this,” mumbled Anakin between bite and bite, just to swallow another mouthful of food after. Anakin always ate as if he was a condemned man enjoying his last meal. Obi-Wan refrained himself from smiling.  
  
Obi-Wan wrapped both hands around the grey mug and breathed slowly, listening to the clock’s continuous ticking. It was cold outside, so he pressed the mug tighter between his fingers and then raised it to his lips, which quivered before taking in the hot liquid. Anakin swallowed in front of him, staring at his mouth from behind long, curly lashes, not noticing a lock of his hair touching the sticky syrup that covered his pancakes. Obi-Wan pursed his lips, and stared back. Anakin’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, and his tongue chased the lingering taste of the food on his own lips.   
  
“I’ll see you at the camp,” said Obi-Wan finally, breaking eye contact and standing up. Anakin grunted behind him.  
  
***   
  
The base camp was grey and uncomfortable, but Obi-Wan couldn’t quite say he wasn’t used to it after a lifetime of planets and battles. He had expected to get a room at the palace, though, due to their diplomat status. The queen hadn’t felt the same way. He hunched his shoulders and sat down on the narrow cot, surveying the dirty sheets with a disgusted look, and reminding himself to think things twice before offering himself to go on a lengthy mission again. He kicked of his boots, and took of his cloak and sash, keeping on enough clothes to keep him warm during the night.   
  
The weather was windy and cold, and even when he had battled under far worse circumstances, it didn’t make the boring stay on this place any easier. If they managed to close the deal by the end of the week, Obi-Wan would be more than happy to escape any celebrations and go back home, to his tidy quarters, and the nice pressure of his own shower. Force, he missed that shower. But he was what he was, and there wasn’t much room for complaint in his line of work, especially when Quinlan and Anakin were there to take care of all the whining for him.   
  
He got under the covers and as close to one end of the bed as he could muster, leaving enough space for Anakin on the other side. They shared one bed and Quinlan kept the other for himself, seeing as he returned accompanied most nights. Besides, he had the nasty habit of kicking. He was not coming back tonight, though, so maybe it would be better for Anakin to just take the other bed, although Obi-Wan couldn’t picture him doing it.   
  
Time passed by slowly, and despite the tiredness of his body, sleep failed to claim him. It was a common disease among the Jedi, which summed up to the necessity of being always alert. It was too cold to sleep, anyway.   
Anakin came back some time later, and Obi-Wan feigned to be asleep, rolling on his side and giving his back to the surface of the bed Anakin would occupy if he finally decided to share the bed, as they had been forced to do in every other mission. Obi-Wan listened intently to the sound of rustling fabric, and of dirty leather thudding against the floor, followed soon by the metallic clink of a lightsaber. He breathed slowly, evenly, imitating sleep. When he dragged in a second breath, it brought with it Anakin’s earthy scent, and his eyelids fluttered open, his lashes damp from sleepy, watery eyes.   
  
The bed sank under Anakin’s weight, and Obi-Wan clutched the cover against his chest, feeling his former padawan’s longer body spread on the tiny space, and invade his own. Anakin got closer to him, and Obi-Wan relished in the warm contact, ignoring the set of long fingers skimming over his hip and settling on the curve of his waist for a few lingering seconds, before reaching for his stomach, and dragging an attached arm around him. Anakin’s hot breath touched the back of his neck, and Obi-Wan didn’t move. Obi-Wan would pretend to be asleep; Anakin would pretend to believe it. They had played this game before, and they were good at it.   
  
***   
  
The party was long dead when Obi-Wan sat down heavily on the couch, nursing a drink between firm fingers, and scanning the room more out of instinct than necessity. Everything was good and dandy, and they would be leaving as soon as their hosts allowed them to, which Obi-Wan hoped was soon. He leaned his head on the back of the leather couch and stared intently at Anakin, who was sitting not too far away, while grinning at a red-haired giggling girl, with a skin of a beautiful shade of blue. He was leaning closer to her, looming over her smaller frame, and her tiny hand was settled on his thigh, rubbing slow circles in a casual manner. Obi-Wan glared at them.   
  
When Quinlan sat next to him, all big smiles and slurred tone, he changed the direction of his look and watched his friend’s big, manly hand tapping his knee. He shook his leg, irritated. Quinlan kept poking him, but Obi-Wan was very good at ignoring him, and he chose to do so, exploring the bottom of his glass instead. Loud music roared inside the room, and he was getting dizzy. The girl’s hand was inside Anakin’s breeches, but he was staring at Obi-Wan.   
  
“Fuck him already, will ya?” Quinlan patted his thigh, and Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. “Force, you two are stubborn.”   
  
The room was too hot, but outside the temperature was low, so much that Obi-Wan had to pull his cloak tighter around himself in a poor attempt at covering his throat, once his legs where steady enough for him to walk. He would get a cold, at this rate. He wanted to go home, or maybe to kill something. It was funny how he was craving a battle, when he was such a boring pacifist, as Anakin himself used to say. He clutched his saber under his cloak, and walked back to the camp.   
  
***   
  
Anakin turned up a couple of hours later, swaying to silent music and smelling of cheap alcohol. He staggered into the room, tripped with his own feet and then with Obi-Wan’s boots, falling finally on the bed, not too graciously and half on top of Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan groaned, wriggled from under Anakin, and then pushed him until his head hit the pillow.   
  
“You’re drunk,” he stated, matter-of-factly. Anakin nodded, and then proceeded to trace his neck with shaky fingers. Obi-Wan let him do so for a while, breathing in and out Anakin’s whisky-stained breath, and half closing his eyes.   
  
“And you’re sexy.”  
  
Obi-Wan groaned again, and slapped away Anakin’s hand, turning around so his back was to Anakin’s figure, and the nape of his neck on the receiving end of the hot puffs of air coming from his parted, pink lips. “Go to sleep, Anakin.”   
  
Anakin snorted, and maneuvered himself on top of the bed until he was back to back with Obi-Wan. “Fuck you, Master.”   
  
***   
  
As it turned out, there was a battle. The man had looked suspicious while signing the pact, so Obi-Wan couldn’t be surprised, but he could be mad. The thing was, there hadn’t been all that much time for that, since the battle had just sprung out of nowhere, getting started with Quinlan’s scream of rage, and his lightsaber igniting, making his yellow tattoo shine brightly under its killing light.   
  
Obi-Wan was a good diplomat, as good as any, and he tried not to restore to aggressive behavior, but he couldn’t change what was in his nature. He was a warrior, and warriors fought. It was strange to suddenly find himself so at ease with a weapon between his hands, fighting his way through a crowded battlefield. He could feel Anakin, not too far away, focused on his breathing, in and out, in and out; steady with every move of his own lightsaber. Obi-Wan almost didn’t feel the cold anymore.   
  
The battle was short and rewarding, not so much that it put a smile between his lips, but certainly enough to make him relax his stance and sigh out of relief. He patted Quinlan’s back when he saw him, a thick thatch of hair covered in blood, and a wide grin between plump lips. Quinlan was the warrior by definition, after all. It was only when Obi-Wan went to find Anakin, that the rush of the battle crashed against the floor, along with his breath.   
  
A few rooms of the palace had been turned into a makeshift hospital, and Anakin lied on top of an uncomfortable looking bed, covered in blood that Obi-Wan hoped was not all his. He ran to him, and held a stiff hand tightly between his fingers, finding his soft, tangled mass of curls, and stroking lightly. Anakin was a tactile kind of person, and he liked to be touched. Ever since he had taken him under his wing, Obi-Wan remembered long limbs falling easily on his shoulder, his knee, and lately his neck, or his thigh. So Obi-Wan touched him, to make sure Anakin knew he was there.   
  
The room was silent but for a few moans of pain here and there, and Obi-Wan would swear he was hearing that diner’s clock ticking inside his brain. He took the glass of water a nurse offered him and took to his lips, taking a short swallow and gripping Anakin’s hand tighter just for a second. His skin was cold, and Obi-Wan found himself rubbing his flesh fingers between his own, if only to make himself see that Anakin was going to be fine.   
  
***   
  
It happened two weeks later, back home. Quinlan had just left, and still hearing the soft hiss of the door, Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall and looked at Anakin. The sun was bright against his face as he bit intently into a red apple, sweet juice falling down his chin. Obi-Wan kept staring, truly _looking_ this time. And Anakin must have seen it, too, because he let the fruit fall heavily on the counter, and walked towards him while licking sticky fingers.   
  
Not two seconds later, Anakin was looking at him from under long lashes that were now no more than an inch away from his face. Obi-Wan breathed Anakin in, apple, and sand, and promises, and felt his hips anchor with Anakin’s spontaneously. The wall was hard against his back, but Anakin’s body was soft against his, even when it was all hard planes and marked angles. Obi-Wan smiled, just a little.   
  
The room was warm, and as Obi-Wan slid his hands up Anakin’s forearms, he thought that maybe it wasn’t because of the place, but because of something entirely different. Anakin’s forehead leaned against his, and their noses bumped together. They weren’t going purposefully slow, they were just taking it all in, hands, and eyes, and lips, and touch, all wrapped up in warm breath.   
  
And then Anakin kissed Obi-Wan. He slid wet lips against wet lips, first slow and the fast, and then slow again, lazy and frenzied at the same time, searching for a pace and liking too many of them. They wrapped themselves around each other, a rustle of clothing being the only sound made in the way towards the bed. Yes, it was warm, and all good.


End file.
